Pretty
by Obsessed Authoress
Summary: Truthfully, you never saw it coming. But life's funny like that. Every time you look at him, you just can't believe how lucky you are. YoshimorixSen TWO-SHOT
1. Part One: Yoshimori

A/N- Yay, my first posted fic on this account! Don't worry, it's just a oneshot/drabble type thing- _please don't kick me off because it's in 2nd person!_ Actually, this isn't the first Kekkaishi fic I wrote, but the other one is multi-chappy and I'm not ready to post it yet... Anyway, as far as I know, this is the first fic on this site dedicated to this particular couple (correct me if I'm wrong), whom I steadfastedly adore: Yoshimori/Kagemiya!!! XD Yaoi, folks. No like, no read. But if you do like, please review! Enjoy! _-OA_

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**Pretty**

_By ObsessedAuthoress_

Disclaimer: I do not own _Kekkaishi_. And yes, its owners are currently thanking their gods, because if I did, there would be a lot of -cough- _interesting _stuff going on...

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**Part One: _Yoshimori_**

You sit there and you wonder how things ever ended up like this.

Really, it's nothing like you intended it to be. No one could say that you were thinking these thoughts when you started, that all of this was part of some higher, greater plan. Or, if it was the latter, no one told _you_ about it.

And you wonder why that is. Shouldn't you have known, before all this happened, that it was going to happen?

Maybe it's just that you don't like surprises.

So you sit there as you've been doing for a while now, and stare at him, because there's nothing else to look at. And because you _like_ looking at him, because he's pretty.

Yes, _he_ is _pretty_.

It wouldn't be that hard to understand, if you could just make an outsider see what you see. There are so many things: the slender column of his neck, the gentle arch of his back, the way his skin is so white, so perfect, the warm pink of his cupid-bow lips. Those lips are especially distracting, especially when they slant down dramatically because he's realized that you're watching him, and he hates it.

You've never bothered to find out why he hates you watching him, but he always has. It's just part of who he is, and you're not going to stand in the way of that.

…That won't keep you from watching him, though.

You release a heavy breath, because you're actually tired, and slide out of your sitting position into a sprawl across the bed, your dark hair tousled against the pale pillows. And still you watch him as he sits next to you, that smooth back presented for your viewing pleasure, stretching down to curves modestly hidden in pools of sheets.

You grin, because he's ignoring you now, pouting in a way that only he could ever pull off. It's a little routine he's developed, and you love it almost as much as you love-

He tilts his head up slightly, arms crossed over his bare chest as if you're not good enough for him, and shakes that head of corn-golden curls, adorably tangled because not too long ago you were running your fingers through them. And even though you can't see, 'cause he's got his back to you, you know that those pink lips you were thinking of are pursed in just the right way to complete the act.

Oh, you love it. It's just so _pretty_. Just like him.

And you laugh, shifting forward onto your stomach so your arms can reach far enough to twine around his small waist. You laugh, and he knows that you're laughing at him, and that you can feel that small shudder of reluctant pleasure as it works its way down his spine. And he knows that no matter how hard he tries, you're not going to let him go, and you're not going to be dissuaded by his playacting, and neither of you are going to get much done for the rest of the day.

And you know that he knows.

And then you wonder why you were so concerned with not knowing about all of _this_ before it happened. Because maybe, deep down inside, you knew all along, but didn't want to admit it. Isn't it possible that the first time you saw him, took in his confident pose, stared into his large dark eyes with those cat's eye pupils, felt his claws against the skin of your neck...

...You were thinking that you loved him?

Because you do, you know. There's no point in trying to deny it.

You love him.

Not just because you think he's pretty, or because he pouts better than any girl you've ever met, or because he's strong and intelligent and thinks much quicker of his feet than you do. All those things are part of it, but they aren't the real reason.

…Maybe there isn't a real reason. All those things put together make him who he is. The person you love.

So it's because he is who he is that you love him, then.

Your arms tighten around his waist, and you tug him backwards, ignoring his protests as you break his balance and he falls back against you. You shift once more so his head is resting on your stomach, so you can crane your neck and look down into his face, memorize its planes the same way you have so many times before.

And even though you don't really think that anything in the world is perfect, you're inclined to believe that what you have resting in your arms at this moment is as close to perfection as you're going to get.

So you're going to be careful. You're not going to let go.

His name rolls off your tongue, almost in a purr. "…Sen…" And he twists his head back to look up at you, and smirks, because he can see what you're thinking in your eyes, and he likes it.

Even if he doesn't give a verbal response, it doesn't really matter. You weren't asking a question, after all. He doesn't have to reply.

And yet, the reply he _does_ give is more than you could ever ask for.

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A/N- Ah well, it's not perfect, but... -shrug- Hope you liked it anyway! -_OA_


	2. Part Two: Sen

A/N- Yeah...this was supposed to be a oneshot, but then Vampy suggested that I write a part from Kagemiya's perspective, and... Took me a while to get around to it, huh? It's always nice to get struck by inspiration at 3-o-clock in the morning, right in the middle of writing _another_ fanfic for _another_ fandom. Very weird. Anyway, hope you like Sen's part! Thanks Vampy! -OA

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Disclaimer: _Kekkaishi_ is still not mine. Wah.

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**Part Two: _Sen_**

You sit there and watch him, chin resting in your hand, and you think to yourself for the thousandth time…

He is _not_ pretty.

You're not exactly sure why this is. Perhaps it's the sturdiness of his frame, muscles hidden beneath that purple robe he's been wearing for kami-knows-how-many-years, protecting Karasumori through the stages of childhood and beyond.

Maybe it's the edge of his jaw, so firm and determined…though it can just as often look stubborn and sulky, especially when combined with both arms crossed over his chest.

Or…it could be that head of untamable black locks. They're prone to spiking out in all directions no matter what time of day it is: morning (he doesn't brush it), noon (he always runs his hands through it, which destroys it further), and night (windblown and ruffled from his nightly guard stint, during which he runs all over the place _ketsu_-ing and _metsu_-ing ayakashi).

Possibly it's his eyes, deep and dark and slightly tilted at the corners, their fathoms capable of so many emotions: joy, sadness, fear, amusement, anger…

And there's the too-strong, so-bold curve of his mouth, waiting to burst into that signature grin, full and smooth and tasting like-

You stop because you _know_ you're turning the color of a lobster, and _damn it_, it's _not_ funny. Then he turns and looks at you, head tilted to the side, and inquires- with the faintest smirk on that strong-bold-full-smooth mouth- if you're okay. You give him a sharp nod and look away quickly before your face can betray you any further. If he finds out that you were analyzing him like that, he'll never let you hear the end of it.

But you find that you can't stop watching him, engaged in his daily exercises. He's stripped to the waist and wearing a faint sheen of sweat, a smudge of dust resting on his nose as he tries to hoist that enormous boulder in the backyard with his kekkai.

You don't bother to tell him what you deduced a while ago: that the boulder actually has a core of iron or steel or something equally hard to lift.

After all, what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

You smirk at the thought and return to your previous reflection, studying him with narrowed eyes in a calculated way. This time you won't be distracted by the curve of that mouth or the faint ripple of muscle beneath scarred skin. You're going to puzzle this out one way or another.

Why, exactly, doesn't he qualify as pretty?

Surely all the reasons you've listed are valid, but none of them seem to ring true. Maybe you're searching for the deeper reason, something reaching beneath appearances to the core of the issues.

_Ugh, _you think. _Philosophy. _

Well, regardless of the reason, _pretty_ just doesn't fit. There are a lot of other words that do, though: _strong, cheerful, stubborn, uncontrollable, moody, friendly_…

All these things and more are the tiny pieces that make up his being, make up who _he_ is. The facets of his life are thrown into the mix: guarding Karasumori as a kekkaishi, going to school like a regular middle-school student (sort of), that bizarre cake-making obsession of his-

All of this, the essence of him, this is why you love-

For the second time today, you start and blush furiously. Good thing you're not trying to carry on a conversation with Shuji-san or someone else, because you would be stuttering through every word.

But, you finally admit to yourself, grumbling all the while, it _is_…true. It takes some effort to form the full thought, and much more on the rare occasions that you ever say it to his face (the number of which you can probably count on one hand), but you know better than to lie to yourself.

You _love_ him.

And so you decide, on the heels of a sudden epiphany, that it doesn't matter if he's not pretty. It's not as if you've hinged your relationship on the issue (you're not that superficial), but this is hardly the first time you've thought about him and being pretty before.

He would say that being pretty is your job, incidentally.

But, you now know, he doesn't _have_ to be pretty. He's so many other things, all wrapped up into one person that you can't imagine every growing tired of being with-

-He's _Yoshimori_.

And…you…love…

"Oi, Kagemiya!" he calls to you across the yard. "Come and spar with me!"

You rise to your feet, feeling oddly satisfied. You start toward him with a smirk, nails elongating into sharp, slender claws. You watch him grin in response, waiting for you.

He's not pretty.

_He's yours. _

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A/N- And there you have it. I don't anticipate this getting any bigger...'cause where else could I possibly go with it? Anyway, hope it was good, review if you like! Thanks! -OA


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